


bedside manner

by Magali_Dragon



Series: one shots and other drabbles [9]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Conversations, BFF Missandei, Co-workers, Doctor Jonerys!, Doctors & Physicians, Dr Jon Snow is Hot AF, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Modern Westeros, No Plot/Plotless, One Night Stands, POV Daenerys Targaryen, POV Jon Snow, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Tattood Jon Snow Just Cuz, medical jargon used wrong i am sure, sexy times in the on-call room, subversive ending because I can
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:41:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22261999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: Dany has had a rough day at work and just wants some fun with a sexy stranger, but of course, things are never as they seem.Bonus chapter added- Jon's shift brings with it some fun in the on call room, a major case, and a happy ending (Update to update:  fun little moodboard added)
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: one shots and other drabbles [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567705
Comments: 71
Kudos: 583





	1. dr. feelgood

**Author's Note:**

> I think I've successfully worked out my writer's block on the Jon Goes East fic and will start work on it soon, but first, a porny one-shot of absolute nothingness because no one asked for doctor Jonerys and yet I wrote it. 
> 
> Blech, enjoy, because I may delete this later.
> 
> Also, I'm not a doctor, everything I learned, I learned from one of the true original ship of dreams Carol and Doug from ER (learned about those two while watching reruns whenever I was home from school, ha).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany has had a rough day at work and just wants some fun with a sexy stranger, but of course, things are never as they seem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've successfully worked out my writer's block on the Jon Goes East fic and will start work on it soon, but first, a porny one-shot of absolute nothingness because no one asked for doctor Jonerys and yet I wrote it. 
> 
> Blech, enjoy, because I may delete this later.
> 
> Also, I'm not a doctor, everything I learned, I learned from one of the true original ship of dreams Carol and Doug from ER (learned about those two while watching reruns whenever I was home from school, ha).

* * *

There were days where Daenerys Targaryen loved her job. Loved it more than she loved breathing, loved food, loved even sex. She _loved_ it. She could go home after her shift, open up a bottle of wine, and recline on her giant, fluffy couch with her three giant, fluffy cats and toast to the determination and perseverance she possessed which enabled her to survive not just a shitty childhood, but four years of undergraduate, four years of medical school, her horrific internship with the _worst_ doctors alive, a stressful and exhaustive residency of about two hours of sleep a night, and her first year in fellowship.

She was a pediatric surgeon and there was nothing more humbling than to accept the cries, tears, hugs, kisses, handshakes, support, and overwhelming elation from families of children who relied on her and believed in her to help their little loved one through a medical crisis. From the simple appendicitis cases to the more complex chronic illnesses, Dany worked through it all, each child as important to her as the last, as if they were her _own_ children.

And then there were the days where she hated it.

Where she hated that the parents put their trust and care of a child into her hands. Hated where she had slaved for years to get where she was. hated that the universe was a shitty, horrible, good for nothing place that allowed children to be ill in the first place, requiring her assistance. She'd love to go out of business-- would love that no child would ever have to feel the oxygen mask over their face as they drifted to sleep or woke up crying in pain after she'd tried to fix them.

Because she tried, she really tried to fix them all.

Sometimes she failed.

Tonight was one of those nights, hating her job, wondering why she hadn't stuck with her first choice of political science and gone into fundraising or some other more acceptable career for a Targaryen. Rhaegar was a highly respected politician, likely to be Prime Minister, having broken the Targaryen streak of churning out corrupt and narcissistic leaders. He would likely toss his hat in to be Prime Minister once Bobby B got impeached, it'd happen soon enough.

Her brother Viserys was always the family fuckup, preferring fast cars and fast women (or men depending on his mood) and spent more time with a drink in one hand and some sort of drug in the other. He had never really gotten over the mental illness that plagued their family, but even he was respectable in Aerys and Rhaella Targaryens' eyes because he actually participated in the family business and did the charity and fundraising and philanthropic circuit.

Dany had taken a different approach to her career, following in after her great-uncle's footsteps, choosing to truly help people rather than stand back and watch them.

Which found her sitting in her favorite bar, a few blocks away from Aegon's Hill University Hospital, nursing her third martini of the night, listening to a shitty band play up on stage, and ignoring her best friend Missandei's assurances that _these things happen, you know them better than I do._

Missandei had a thankless job as a hospital social worker and translator, a job she'd ended up getting because of her language skills. It saved the board the hassle of hiring two separate positions. She was married to a military man, so she could stay out as late as she wanted, since Grey was on maneuvers in Essos for the next few months. She was always the bright spot in Dany's day, because nothing seemed to get Missandei down, she was perpetually upbeat and seemed to believe that everything would work out, despite the terrible things she saw on a daily basis.

She scowled into her martini glass, her mind fuzzy from the gin and her lips puckering from the brine of the olive juice. She bit down hard on the toothpick that had the olive, snapping the thin stick in half. "Great, now I'll get splinters in my tongue," she complained, finding everything to be horrible that night.

"It's going to be alright," Missandei said. She had switched to sparkling water an hour or so ago, probably sensing she'd need to drive her home. She frowned. "Dany, you know it was going to be a hard case. I know that doesn't make anything easier, but you know in your heart it was a fifty-fifty chance."

"And fifty percent chance of survival," she mumbled. She pushed the heel of her palm into her eye. "That little boy's family was counting on me."

"And they knew that it was going to be a hard go of it, they don't blame you."

That would make it easier, if they did blame her, but when she'd come out to break the news, to tell the family that theirs on had died on her operating table, they had hugged her as she cried with them, harder than even the mother had been. _And what sort of person does that make me? More upset than a child's mother?_ She sighed hard, shaking her head again, replaying the surgery over and over again in her head. "They could do a M&M."

"They won't in this case."

"How do you know?"

"Because everyone knows that Tyrion doesn't order a morbidity and mortality review on a case unless there's definitely a chance for some sort of malpractice. In this case the operation was risky, the child was already sick, and you did everything you could." Missandei was always there to say the right things, she supposed, finishing off her drink. She had two weeks now; Tyrion had given her the time to compose herself, take some time to decompress, it had been a long year. She nudged the empty glass across the bar, her eyes rolling sideways to a shadow that crossed over her right side, seeing a man taking a seat, a whiskey set in front of him.

The man was very attractive.

She cocked her head, tongue darting tout to gather a drop of gin that remained on her upper lip. _Very attractive._ She turned back to Missandei, arching her eyebrow, silently nodding to the newcomer at their regular hangout. Missandei glanced around her surreptitiously, smile flirting on her lips. "He's cute," she murmured.

"I'm going in."

"Dany!"

Missandei knew that she did _not_ do things like this, she just tended to get a little...trigger-happy might not be a good term but it was close enough, when she lost a patient or otherwise experienced a significant event in her life. Sometimes she felt like she had to burn something down. Light it on fire and watch everything melt and explode and collapse. Just to get rid of the pain in her heart and the release she had to feel. That was all this was, a need for a release.

And since it had been some time since someone other than herself had helped her release, she was perfectly okay with what she was going to do. She was going to flirt with a handsome stranger, see if he was also interested and wherever it went, that's where it would go. Hopefully to his hotel room, she thought, wondering if h e was from out of town. He just didn't _look_ from around there.

Which was hard to do, since Kings Landing was just a melting pot of everyone, as the capital of Westeros. There were very few _natives_ to the Crownlands.

She sauntered towards him, winking at Missandei, leaning against the bar, wiggling her glass in her fingertips. "Hey Davos! Can I get another?"

The old barkeep and owner of _The Onion Knight_ the bar across from the hospital, scowling over at her, but his blue eyes twinkled with brief amusement. "You sure you've not had enough?"

"I'm good for another." She eyed the stranger, who had turned to glance sideways at her. She smiled at him, cocking her head. "Hey." She licked her lips, nodding towards his drink. "Actually, give me whatever he's having."

This caught the stranger's attention. He smirked. She could see now that his eyes were a peculiar shade of dark gray. Eye color was fascinating to her, as she had violet eyes, courtesy of her Valyrian heritage. To her knowledge—and genetics classes in medical school—gray eyes were predominantly found in the North, but were still very rare. They suited his thin, pale face and the black curls that escaped around his face from a neatly tied back bun at the nape of his neck.

A look at his battered black combat boots, black skinny jeans, and worn black leather jacket over a gray shirt, she thought perhaps he was wearing the black glasses and bun ironically, as some men were wont to do those days, but the rough skin of his palms and the two scars that crossed over his face—one curved over his right eyebrow and cheekbone and another slicing straight through his left eyebrow to top of his cheek-- Dany suspected this guy was not being ironic at all, but was truly someone who could not be bothered with his hair and thus pulled it back.

She could see a silver chain around his neck. Something fluttered south of her navel-- _desire_ \-- wondering who she had decided to set her sights on. She glanced at Missandei, who likely had the same question, frowning at her sudden lack of confidence as she swallowed the lump in her throat. "Whiskey, is it?"

Davos chuckled, taking down the whiskey. "Stark Whiskey."

"Nice tastes."

The man smiled, very faint, only his eyes crinkling at the movement. He picked up his glass, the whiskey swirling when he lifted it to his plump lips. She licked hers; they were very dry now. "You sure you want to mix whiskey with...what is that? Vodka martini?"

She scoffed. "Gin of course, only way to go."

"Hmm, wouldn’t know."

“You don’t drink gin?” She scowled. “Haven’t you ever had a decent gin martini? Davos makes great ones.”

Davos called over to her. “And you’ve had quite enough tonight.”

He propped his head on his palm, grinning. “I’ll take your word for it.” He swung his glass in his fingertips, the remaining whiskey sloshing around. “Prefer this stuff.”

“Nice whiskey, a gentleman's drink I suppose," she teased, taking the glass from Davos. She lifted it to him. "Cheers." She took a sip, the amber liquid burning like fire in her throat. It set every nerve ending ablaze. She arched an eyebrow. "What brings you here to Davos's fine establishment? Drinking Stark whiskey? Celebration or..." She thought of her circumstances, scowling. "Drowning sorrows?"

He turned slightly on the barstool, elbow going on the worn walnut of the bar. "Don't you think that's more of a second drink question?"

"Second drink? Does that mean you're going to stick around with me for a second?"

"Depends on fast you can finish that one."

Dany grinned, tossing back the whiskey. She slammed the glass onto the bar, stepping closer to him, inhaling the smell of peppermint, tobacco, and whiskey. Her fingers curled around his leather jacket, her violet eyes melting to indigo. "You were saying?"

The man flicked his finger to Davos, requesting another. He finished off his and they clinked their glasses. He glanced around the bar. "This a doctor bar?"

"How'd you know?"

"Just a wild guess, all the white coats and sad faces."

"We're not all sad," she laughed.

He arched a dark brow. The scar on his left one made it droop ever so slightly. She was struck by the urge to touch it, trace the pale line to his cheek. Maybe she had had too much to drink, she thought, feeling like she'd wandered into a wolf's den. She was poking it awake too. She swallowed hard again. _What are you doing Dany?_ He leaned in a little closer, clearly intrigued. "Where'd you learn to drink whiskey like that?"

She smirked. "I have a high tolerance." Sure enough she was feeling a little tipsy, but her mind was sharpening up a bit. She glanced towards one of the pool tables. "You want another?"

He drifted his index finger out to stroke the top of her hand, spiraling it around the dragon ring she wore on her left index. "Dragons, huh?" She shivered at his touch.

"They're kind of my thing."

"I can tell." There was a dragon charm on the necklace she wore, holding an egg in its claws that had the letter 'D' inscribed on it. It was a gift from her mother, when she was a baby and she'd never taken it off. He touched his finger to the charm, before dropping it to the soft skin of her chest, dragging over her clavicle.

_What the fuck am I doing?_ Her breath drew in sharply at the sensation, the prickle of heat that crossed over where he'd touched and the funny feeling of hair standing on the back of her neck. She closed her eyes, trying to contain herself. She smiled again, shaky this time. "What's your thing, huh? Bad boy like you visiting a doctor bar?"

"Bad boy?"

"Combat boots, long hair, and leather jacket."

He chuckled. "Didn't you ever learn not to stereotype?" He nodded to her silver hair. "I could say something about that for you."

"And what does my silver hair mean?"

"You're Lyseni."

She arched a brow, chuckling. "Not all Lyseni have silver hair. Just means they're Valyrian."

"Well then you're Valyrian."

"And what does Valyrian mean?"

"Means your ancestry is pretty old." He grinned. "Like the Northerners."

She rolled her eyes. "Northerners think they've been around a long time, but Valyrians founded all of Essos. We conquered Westeros."

"Hmm, but the North wouldn't yield."

"You must be thinking of Dorne. They were the last to join, the Northerners knelt when it became clear they were going to lose." She grinned, poking her finger into his chest. "And your people bent the knee first."

"My people?"

"Oh come off it, you're Northern of course."

“Tsk, tsk,” he mocked. “More stereotyping. You know you really have a problem with that."

She glanced at Davos, nodding towards the stranger she'd been bantering with. "Davos, tell me, is this guy from the North or what?"

"I'm not getting involved, but yes." Davos wiped down the bar in front of them, wagging his finger at the stranger, who just smiled at him. "You be careful messing around with this one, she's fire."

The stranger looked back at her, his gray eyes melting into onyx pools. She swallowed hard, crossing her legs and squeezing, trying to relieve the pressure that was building there. He lifted his fingers to his lips, tapping them, surveying her. She wondered what he was thinking. He leaned in; voice gravelly. "I like playing with fire."

She reached for her bag and coat, grabbing at the neckline of his t-shirt, dragging him in so they were nose to nose. His breath hitched at the same time as hers. She realized that despite her movement, he was the one crowding her, pressing her back against the walnut bar. She heard Davos give a little 'tsk' from somewhere, probably about ready to spray them down. The pressure was unbelievable now, it was going to kill her. She had to have him. Her fingers reached to twirl in the silver chain around his neck, something jingling under his shirt. Her lips hovered over his, eyes locked on. “Do you want to play elsewhere?”

“I’m in town on business,” he murmured, his hand reaching around into his back jeans pocket, removing some bills, tossing them to cover their drinks. He jerked his head to the door. “Hotel’s not far.”

Missandei smiled over at her and mimed making ap hone call. She barely nodded, indicating hse’d call if there was trouble or if she needed her. She could barely string two rational thoughts together, her sole focus finding out if the stranger’s chest was as well defined as it felt beneath her palms through the thin fabric of his shirt. She hitched a breath as he tugged his arm around her waist, pulling her with him towards the bar door.

They both stumbled out of the bar at the same time; her whiskey coupled with the martinis were giving her a buzz, a thick feeling wrapped around her limbs, but she was just aware enough to realize that he was helping her pull on her coat, her arms dumbly slipping through and shrugging it over her shoulders to ward off the slight winter chill from the Blackwater Bay.

She flicked her silver braids over her shoulders with the rest of her long hair, normally coiled in an intricate crown of braids to hide beneath her scrub cab, but she’d let it down a bit tonight. While she adjusted herself, she smiled as he reached into his pocket and removed a tiny vape cartridge, which she supposed was why he’d had the faint scent of tobacco on him. “Bad habit,” he explained at her questioning look. He puffed on it for a minute, the little black object hidden in his palm as he draped his arm around her waist. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” she purred, realizing that off the barstool he wasn’t that tall, but then again, everyone was tall to her when she wasn’t wearing heels. Her boots that evening only rose her up a couple more inches. She nudged against him, walking beside him as he led her towards his hotel, blowing the vape smoke off to the other side of him before he tucked it away into his jacket pocket. She frowned, nose wrinkling. “What should I call you?”

“Jon.”

_Jon_. Simple name for a simple man, she supposed, as he did not seem like one to deal with entanglements. Very straightforward he’d been, this Jon. Northern characteristic, if she remembered from her limited involvement with the farthest and largest of the provinces. She glanced at his questioning look; eyebrows lifted. “Dany,” she murmured.

“Dany.”

At the corner of the block, she was about to ask which hotel, when suddenly his mouth was covering hers. _Oh my_ , she sighed against him, her knees giving out slightly at the surprised sensation of his warmth enveloping her. He kept her steady, one hand gripping the front of her coat and the other splaying out over the small of her back. The kiss was toe-curling, his lips warm and firm beneath hers, sliding gently as his tongue lightly probed for permission to enter, which she readily gave, her mouth opening beneath his, taking him in and sliding languidly over what he offered, her breath heavy as she exhaled against his cheek, trying to stay kissing him forever.

He was absolutely sublime, she thought, as the kiss deepened, both of them beginning to hurry, trying to take and give at the same time. Their tongues and teeth began to war against each other, as she pulled hard on him, her hips jutting against his. The thought that they could probably get arrested for indecency if they continued had her pulling away and she grabbed his hand, pulling hard. “You were saying something about your hotel?”

He grinned, long and slow. “Follow me.”

~/~/~/~

They crashed into the dark room, her hands tangling in his hair, the elastic tie that held it back tossed somewhere in the hallway as they’d tripped out of the elevator, a mess of legs, arms, teeth and tongues. Somewhere in the back of her mind Dany wondered if she’d dropped her bag and coat along the way, but she also could not find it within herself to care. She was consumed with pure primal need for this man, a feeling she hadn’t felt in _ever_.

She felt her back smack against the closed door, groaning as his teeth nipped along the column of her throat, tongue soothing the pricks of pain in its wake. Her back arched from the door, fingers fumbling with his coat, pushing it from his strong shoulders, trying to get him to move backwards towards wherever the bed happened to be. “That feels so good,” she mumbled when he found the sensitive spot beneath her ear, sucking at the pulse point that rested there.

“That feels good, huh?” he growled, tearing himself away to snap his teeth at her, like a wolf, she thought, eyes pure black with heat and want. He sucked her lower lip in between his teeth, and she hissed, crying out when at the same time his wide palms cupped her breasts, thumbs flicking across her nipples through the soft silk of her blouse. “How bout’ that?”

Words left her, because his mouth dropped to kiss across her clavicle, tongue, teeth, and lips doing things to her skin she’d never felt before. She gasped, wondering what would happen elsewhere if he was that talented just on her neck and chest. She toed off her boots and he pulled away long enough to yank off his, the two of them knocking against the dresser and then the wall, clothes coming off with each grab of each other and each knock into some object here or there.

His skin was cool and smooth as marble under her hands, stroking along his back, feeling the powerful muscles ripple under her touch. He shivered and she grinned, glancing at him to take him in. There were scars across his chest, scars she lightly touched, dropping him back onto the bed, her knees straddling his hips, pressing him down into the mattress as she kissed along the marks, mouth open and hot, wondering how he’d gotten them. The chain that remained around his neck had two silver dog tags, so she assumed military.

While she kissed at his scars, her fingers played along his arms, curious at the tattoos that covered his right arm, the dim light peeking through the closed curtains not bright enough for her to truly make them out, but from what she could tell they were fairly intricate. She wanted to kiss along them next, to ask and find out what they meant, but a voice inside her head reminded her what this was.

_No questions. Just a one-night thing._ They hadn’t discussed logistics, but she knew she didn’t want anything beyond this. Beyond feeling good. And this mysterious Jon felt really, really good. Her shirt came off, tossed over and to the floor, and she was grateful she’d chosen the wine-red bra and panty set, grinning at the slight widening of his eyes as he took it in. Her chest heaved for breath, faltering enough to give him the opportunity to toss her back onto the bed.

She bounced, giggling, lifting her legs up, silently encouraging him to remove her pants, which he was happy to oblige, revealing the matching panties—if they could be called panties. Just a swatch of lace that barely covered her. She grinned, lazily stretching out, her toes—freshly manicured thank the gods—stroked along her opposite calf, hips twisting a bit as she lifted her arms above her head, murmuring. “Like what you see?” It was the drink, she thought, as she was never this bold.

The lace cups of her bra barely covered her breasts, her nipples dusky pink and slightly visible beneath the top of it. The heated look in his eyes emboldened her further and she dragged the tip of her finger from her lips down across her chest and between the valley of her breasts, casually flicking the snap that held the cups together. Without the tension of the clasp, the lace sprang apart, baring her to him, and he licked his lips, leaning his knee on the bed and then the other, until he was straddling her, looking down.

One of his fingers, rough and callused, dragged along the soft skin over the top of one of her breasts and then began to tease her nipple. She closed her eyes, gasping, thrusting forward. He chuckled. “Now who’s playing with fire?”

_Oh gods, touch me_ , she silently begged, brow furrowing and her eyes closing tight when his mouth followed the path of his finger. He licked and sucked, fingers following his mouth. “Oh please,” she murmured, wondering if she could come just from him playing with her tits. She was absolutely desperate, her thighs falling open of their own accord, wanting to feel him against her.

The rough denim of his jeans abraded her slightly and she began to tug on his belt, fingers itching to wrap around him, her mouth absolutely watering in anticipation and her cunt clenching at the prospect of having the hard bulge pressed into her. She whimpered, possibly because she felt him pull away from her, preventing her from taking him in hand, but also probably because he was now laying soft kisses in a line over her belly and tongue tracing over the top of her panties, teasing her.

It was all so much, absolute fire consuming her, everything in her mind going black when his mouth closed over her, the silk of the panties and the heat of his tongue, lightly sucking and bringing her into his mouth. She grasped at his hair, dark curls tangling in her fingers. They did not even know each other, she didn’t even know his last name, and here he was basically tracing her name on her clit, his mouth positively magic. She bucked her hips into his face, desperate for him to bare her fully.

So he did, the panties tugged off with a light tear of the fabric. She should chastise him for ruining them, but— _holy fucking seven hells_. His mouth closed entirely over her, fingers gently holding her thighs back when she moved to snap them around his head. “Oh fuck,” she cried out, a hand coming up to tease her breast as he stroked his tongue from top to bottom, gathering up the wetness he found and dragging it over her clit. She panted, the pressure consuming her, trying to hold him against her, hips demanding more, her body demanding fulfillment.

He hummed against her, clearly pleased with her response, a finger teasing her entrance, first one and then another. She was so wet she could hardly feel him, the sensation too much. It had been so long since she’d felt like this, maybe ever, she thought, chancing a glance to peer at him through her eyelashes, the sight alone almost enough to hurtle her over the cliff. He rolled his eyes up, grinning as he ate her out, the black of his pupils having drowned out the gray.

She twisted in the sheets, helpless as he tortured her with his wicked mouth and teasing touch, his fingers sliding along inside of her, coaxing out her pants and moans, until it was too much, it was just too much, and the release she had been desperate for, that she’d wanted since she’d walked out of that bar, it came flying over her before she could prepare, her body aflame, sweat pooling at the base of her spine as she cried out, arching forward and pressing her fingers deeper into his hair, gripping tight as she clamped his fingers inside the wet heat of her, the pressure exploding into molten lava flows over her, wave after wave of it.

He continued to stroke and lap at her, body quivering and over-sensitive from aftershocks, encouraging another explosion, this one less intense, but no less pleasurable. She buried her face into the pillow at her side, biting on it, hand pressed hard on her abdomen, trying to breathe through the intense waves, her leg slung over his shoulder and her other still clutched in his hand. “Oh gods,” she cried. She laughed, blinking slowly, glancing down at him, at his satisfied smile. “What…wow.”

“Hmm, pleased to hear it.”

She waited a second, breathing deep, and then realized he still had his pants on. “Well this just won’t do,” she huffed, her body feeling like liquid, mind hazy, trying to reach for him. She gripped his hips, murmuring up, eyelids dropping as she slipped her hands into his jeans and boxers, stroking the velvet length she found. “It’s your turn Jon.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but he wasn’t fast enough as she pushed him back onto the bed, climbing over him as she tugged him free, helping him push the jeans and boxers over his hips. She purred happily, giving him a taste of his own medicine as he groaned when she increased the pressure of her strokes. “Fuck,” he cursed.

She lowered herself over him, teeth scraping on his collar bone, kissing to the horrible sickle-shaped scar over his heart. It wasn’t from surgery, her doctor brain noted, wondering how he’d recovered from such an injury. There were more, ugly slashes along his chest, and she briefly hoped that he wasn’t a criminal or something, but _no personal details, just a one-night thing._ She swirled her tongue along them, tracing over the hard ridges of his abdomen, surprised to see how well built he was. He hid it very well under his t-shirt and jacket.

The v of muscle that dipped into his jeans trembled when she kissed along it and she pulled at the offending garments, removing them completely and baring him fully. “Now we’re even,” she said.

He laughed, but it turned into a choke when she—after a quick approving gaze at his lovely cock—took it into her mouth, the thick hard length bobbing between her lips. She kept her gaze on him, delighting in the groans from him, thinking turnabout was fair play as she teased him, suckling at the head and then stroking back down, her fingers following with her mouth. He thrust against her and she chuckled, the movement of her breath over him causing him to seize. “Gods Dany,” he mumbled.

She wanted him inside of her, so she teased him for another minute or so, until she realized he was tensing, holding off on his release, probably for the same reason. She let go, but still held him firmly in hand. “Condom?’ she gasped. She had some in her purse, but she _really_ hoped he had one closer since she did _not_ want to get up.

There were gods, she thought, as he leaned over—almost at light speed—to his jeans, fumbling for a moment before removing the foil package, ripping it open and moving to put it on, but she took it from him, wiggling her eyebrows. He squinted. “What are you…”

She set it over the tip of him and then lowered her mouth, lips following as she pushed it on. His head fell back, groaning again. “You keep doing that and I’m not lasting,” he warned.

“Oh no can’t have that.” Her knees pinned to either side of his hips, she lifted to lower onto him, but suddenly his hands were on her thighs, gripping as he moved, flipping her so she was beneath him. She smiled, accepting the hard, swift kiss he gave her, shifting so he was between her. She reached between them, fingers stroking over her nub as he aligned with her. She nodded at his quick moment of questioning, and anxiously tossed her head on the pillow, gasping as he began to push slowly into her, letting her adjust as he moved.

It had been so long, she felt tighter than she thought she’d been. She gripped his upper arm with one hand, her other still between them, but she’d stilled her movements, the sensations too much. He was so thick and warm over her, beginning to thrust lightly, easing into her deeper and deeper with each thrust, her body adjusting, wet and needy, until she felt him bumping against her womb, buried to the hilt.

She ground against him, crying out as she was still sensitive from her previous orgasms, but she needed him. “Please,” she whispered, her forehead pressed to his. She kissed him, nodding. “Please…more.”

He said nothing as he began to thrust harder, each time he pulled almost all the way out before sliding home again, more and more and more. She thrust up to meet him, her knee lifting to bring him in deeper. He wrapped his arm under her thigh, hooking her knee over his elbow and with the other he snaked beneath her, pressing into the small of her back, encouraging her to meet him with equal ardor.

Her nails dug into his shoulder, curving half-moons into his skin, and her other hand gripped at his ass, firm and tight under her. A tinkle of metal sounded in the back of her mind, but she couldn’t figure where it was coming from. She wanted to see more of him, but the moonlight creeping through the room threw him into relief and the image was almost too much. The dark shadow of him moving against her, harder and harder, the fire consuming her.

He let her dictate the rhythm, driving harder into her when she pushed against him and dug her nails deeper into his shoulder, moving slightly to find the angle which stroked inside of her in such a way to draw out the louder wails and cries tumbling from her lips. She realized she was chanting his name, breathy sobs of it, unsure of what she was feeling with him inside of her, moving against her in a way that she’d never felt another man before.

She felt the prickle of the impending explosion, the little spark inside, and then it caught, spreading like wildfire through her. She clamped around him like a vice and he pressed between them, fanning the flames of the fire as he gathered the wetness he found and used it to circle at her clit, the fire all but uncontrollable now. She squeezed around him, a warm velvet vice, his thrusts speeding up and then she knew it was over for him when they became erratic, a harsh cry escaping him, and he bit down on her shoulder. She groaned, pressing as hard as she could to him, encouraging his release, thrusting weakly to take everything she could, as he’d given her everything he had.

They feebly moved against each other for a few more seconds, until the fire won out, burning out everything in them, until there was nothing left. She closed her eyes, her fingers tangled in his hair as he moved to the side, still somewhat lying against her, covering her. She missed him. It was stupid, she thought, eyes still closed when he got up from the bed to dispose of the condom.

Dany kept her eyes closed, sighing as the bed sagged a little more when he returned, pulling the covers up and over her. She smiled, allowing her eyes to open enough to see him stretched out beside her, an arm covering her belly, spooning against her side. “Hmm,” she murmured, nuzzling her nose to his, their heads on the same pillow. “Cuddler, huh?”

“Naps are nice.”

She smiled again, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything else. She turned into him, kissing at a bead of sweat that tracked down his throat. The room air felt cool against her over hot and stimulated skin. Her entire body was wonderfully used and sated. The night was still young, she thought briefly. She picked up one of his dog tags, realizing that that was the clinking sound she’d heard as he’d pounded into her. It was too dark to read. Her thumb ran over the engraving, trying to make it out.

His hand covered hers, setting the dog tags back down onto his sweat-slick chest. “No details,” he whispered.

_Seems he has the same idea._ She smiled, head resting against his chest again. “Guess that means you won’t tell me about the tattoos on your arm?”

“What about yours, huh?” He danced his finger along the three dragons that swept under her fourth rib, just beneath the bottom curve of her left breast. He smirked; one eye opening. “You do like dragons.”

There were wolves on his arm, she could see, and a white tree with red leaves. “They’re kinda’ my thing,” she whispered, kissing him again. She was exhausted, but she felt stirrings already, wanting him again. Not satisfied anymore. She danced her fingers over his stomach, beneath the sheet, stroking him lightly. He groaned into her mouth and she smiled. “The night is still young.”

And she still had plenty more things she wanted to do to this stranger from the North.

~/~/~/~

_Two Weeks Later_

“So what did I miss? I was gone for two weeks and it seems like Tyrion is doing everything in his power to screw up this hospital,” Dany muttered, walking around the U-shaped desk in the surgical offices, grabbing for an iPad from the charging station. She leaned back against the desk, tapping in her codes to get into their charting system.

One of the emergency room doctors who was up checking on a referred patient, rolled her eyes. Talisa was accustomed to their chief of surgery’s random decisions as they often affected her ER. “Well he’s instituted a _sweeping_ new referral system for ER consultations. Claims its lessening time from referral request to getting a patient into surgery, but honestly it’s just making things more difficult.”

“I don’t know why he bothers.”

“Because Dr. Targaryen, it is my job as the Chief of Surgery to ensure this department runs smoothly and your job to listen,” Tyrion’s droll voice called from around the other side of the desk. He glanced up at her, amused. He nodded to her iPad. “Welcome back, there’s plenty of work to be done as you can see.”

She scanned the list of patients, noting that he’d assigned her the _easy_ cases. No doubt to help her back in after her mandatory break following her loss two weeks ago. She sighed, mumbling a ‘thank you.’ It didn’t make it easier, but she did have to get back to it. It was her job after all. She frowned at the surgery board. “Who is Snow?”

“Oh you missed him, he started last week,” Talisa said, waggling her eyebrows. She pointed to Tyrion, who came around the desk, handing a few things over to one of the admin nurses. “Tyrion’s newest acquisition.”

"Cripples, bastards, and broken things, those are what I collect," Tyrion sang. He chuckled to himself. "Dr. Snow is one of my latest additions."

Before she could find out what that was supposed to mean, Talisa’s pager went off. She glanced at it, moving fast. “Got a massive trauma incoming. I’ll call if I need you.”

“Go,” Tyrion ordered, already grabbing the phone to call in to the other surgeons to be ready and for the nurses and other staff to start prepping ORs. He looked at Dany. “Go prep, our new trauma surgeon is already sending up a kid, dissected spleen and massive internal bleeding, he’s working to stabilize.”

Dany nodded, handing her iPad off as she rushed to the OR. She hurriedly tied her scrub cap—dragons printed over it—entering the room to wash up. She turned on the faucet and grabbed for the heavy lava soap, starting to lather up, her blood and adrenaline coursing through her in anticipation of a bloody trauma surgery. She finished up and held her hands up, one of the nurses covering them with sterile wrapping, walking backwards through the swinging doors and into the OR as another couple nurses tied her mask and pulled on her robe and gloves. “What do we got?” she demanded.

The patient—a five-year old— had already been brought up and the anesthesia administered, another surgeon with head bent over the abdominal cavity, working to stabilize the bleeding. She guessed this was their _new_ trauma surgeon, perhaps this mysterious Dr. Snow that was on the surgery board. There were wolves printed on his scrub cap, she noted, but she couldn’t see his face, hearing him rattling off the particulars of the case.

_That voice is familiar._

There was a Northern burr attached to it and she frowned behind the clear shield over her eyes and the mask over her mouth. She looked at the vitals and then peered down at what the surgeon was doing. “Hand me that clamp, make yourself useful,” he barked.

She wanted to snap back, but now was not the time for petty disputes over who was in charge. As the trauma surgeon it was his job to help stabilize the patient and treat the acute injury before she could carry on with any other necessary treatments. She was there to help in that particular setting. “Clamp,” she demanded, hand out for the device. She chuckled, glancing sideways at the X-Ray scan that one of the residents had thrust out for her to see. “Ah, we’ve got a few broken ribs, what else do we have…” She nodded slightly. “Oh and I’m Dr. Targaryen by the way, don’t think I caught your name…”

“Snow,” he said, finally looking up. “Jon…” His voice broke, faltering. “Snow.”

_Oh fuck_ , she thought, instantly recognizing him. The eyes. It was the eyes. That was all she could see, over the mask and scrub cap and through the clear face shield.

Gray eyes.

_J_ _on.  
_

_Her Jon. Best sex of her life Jon._

“Jon,” she breathed. She forgot where she was. There was a patient on the table between them and for a moment the first thing she thought of was his fingers sliding over her body, many, many, _many_ times in that night two weeks ago.

The night she couldn’t stop thinking about.

The night had had her awake all the other nights thereafter.

He tore his gaze away from her quickly, returning to his work. She coughed behind her mask, pretending as best she could that there was nothing that happened between them other than an exchange of names. Of course the entire OR staff noticed, she thought darkly, seeing looks exchanged between everyone at the uncharacteristic fumbling of the _Dragon Queen._

Jon was able to stabilize the patient’s bleeding, but she didn’t have time to say anything to him before he got called into another OR for another trauma. She worked on the patient, ended up having to remove the poor child’s spleen and finished up. She left the OR once she’d passed off the closing to one of her resident’s and went to find the child’s parents to inform them of the success of the operation. Thankfully they’d already been notified and were in the waiting area.

It didn’t take long before she got called into another and then she had rounds, checking on patients that had come in over her last two weeks who had been reassigned to her charge, a couple youngsters, one neonate, and a young teen girl with heavy scarring on her face who Dany had heard was a friend of Davos. She sat with the girl for a bit longer than she normally would have, assuring her that she would help with the skin graft and both of them mooning over some famous male celebrities on the girl’s phone.

“Who is that?” the young girl asked—Shireen—was her name, peering through the window of her room to the nurse’s station desk in the center of the ward. Her cheeks flushed. “He’s cute.”

Dany followed Shireen’s gaze, eyes widening at the sight of Jon Snow. In the bright, harsh light of the hospital she could see what the dull bar lighting, streetlights, and the moonlight of his hotel room hadn’t shown her, and that was that he was extremely _fucking_ attractive. She’d known it of course, she had felt his body and see his face, and she’d done things to him that made her blush just thinking about.

Except this was different. His dark curls that had felt so good under her palms were pulled back from his face into that low bun they’d previously been in, tucked under the scrub cap that had wolves running across it. He wore form-fitting navy-blue scrubs and was leaning against the desk, smiling at one of the nurses. His beard was closely trimmed, as it had been the night she’d…well… _fucked_ him. Instead of combat boots, he wore flashy gray and silver sneakers.

“Um, that’s one of the doctors. He’s new.”

“He’s really cute.” Shireen flushed deeper again. “I like his hat.”

_I like all of him._ Dany blinked, astounded at her thirsty response. She cleared her throat, jumping up to her feet. “Well Shireen, I will check in on you later, alright? Please let the nurses know if you need anything.”

“Thank you Dr. Dany.”

Dany grinned, squeezing the young girl’s hand and turned, not looking as she stepped out of the room, and bumped into a hard wall of muscle, her breath catching in her throat. “Jon,” she gasped, jumping back as if burned. “Um…hello.”

“Dany,” he murmured. The way he said her name had her skin prickling again. He arched his brows, smile flirting on his lips. “Nice to see you again.” 

She squinted. "You're a doctor."

"I did warn you about stereotyping," he said. 

"You _smoked_!"

"Vaped, it's a bad habit, trying to quit."

Seemed like he had an answer for everything. She frowned, saying nothing, but grabbed at the front of his scrub top, pulling him lightly to follow her. Thankfully he got the hint, on her heels as she led him down a couple of hallways, putting distance between her patients and whatever… _this_ was. She opened a door, pushing him into a broom closet.

The door closed behind her with a click and she felt herself pressed against it, trapped between it and his body. _I think I made a terrible mistake_ , she thought, eyeing his wet lips. He licked them again and she closed her eyes as a surge of desire went through her, remembering what he’d done with those lips. “I cannot _believe_ you’re a doctor. You didn’t tell me you were a doctor!” she hissed.

“When should I have said that? Before you started flirting with me at the bar or after I had my tongue in your mouth?” Jon replied.

“Ah…I…” she stammered. She slammed her brows together, pushing her finger into his chest. “Well…you were in a doctor bar! We all go there after shift, it’s right by the hospital!”

“And I had just finished with my interview, I had no idea I was going to take the job, how was I supposed to know you were going to come onto me?” he hissed. He pushed by her, spinning her around slightly so she tripped backwards into the opposite wall, knocking against a few brooms. He caught them before they fell, whispering loudly. “I was just minding my business with my drink and you started flirting with _me._ ”

“And you invited me to your hotel room.”

“Yeah well you…” He paused, gray eyes narrowing. He dropped them to her mouth, which was parted slightly, her breasts straining against her sports bra and the thin material of her black scrubs. He swallowed, throat bobbing. “You…” He was at a loss for words. He sighed, closing his eyes. “Fuck it.”

Dany didn’t have a chance to wonder what that meant before he was kissing her, his fingers tight on the back of her head, pulling her towards his waiting mouth. She moaned, grabbing for his neck, holding tight and returning with equal ardor. She snaked around him, unable to stop herself, despite the very real fact that they were at work, in a hospital, and…she groaned, pushing at him, forehead against his, whispering. “This…this has to stop. We can’t do this.”

“You’re right.” Jon smiled briefly, whispering. “Tyrion warned me about you.”

She frowned. “What?”

“On my first day last week…said that I had yet to meet Dr. Daenerys Targaryen. He said that I would bend the knee to you or burn in fire, because you ruled the hospital, not him.” He wiggled his brows, whispering darkly. “Seems I already bent the knee.”

_Oh fuck._ She laughed, but it was more of a choke. “I have never had this happen before…I seriously…never did anything like what I did before.”

“Same.”

She chewed her bottom lip, shrugging. “Guess that goes to show us.”

“Guess so.”

They stared at each other for a few more minutes and he took a deep breath, smiling awkwardly, reaching back to twist the door knob. “I should…should get back…work.”

“Yes. Work.”

They slipped out of the closet, one at a time, and when she closed the door behind her, he’d already gone. She sighed, disappointed. She hurried away, finding Missandei and snagging her by the arm, not listening to her friend’s protests. She spun on her heel, hissing to her friend. "The new doctor here? The trauma surgeon?"

"Yeah, he's kind of hot. Northern, right?"

"Yeah, well he's the guy I fucked two weeks ago, the hot one, the best sex of my life?" she squeaked, voice high and strained.

Missandei stared at her for a moment before she pulled her to the door. "Oh girl, we have a lot to talk about. This requires a long lunch."

They had quite a lot to discuss.

~/~/~/~

It took only a month before Dany couldn’t take it any longer.

Jon Snow was killing her.

Slowly.

Painfully.

Agonizingly.

And she thought he knew it.

They had gone to drinks—at Davos’s of course—after their realization that they now worked together. Agreed that what happened happened and there was no reason to make things awkward at work, it was in the past and they weren’t coworkers then, and they didn’t even know each other’s full names. It would _never_ happen again.

They bumped into each other here and there. Jon’s trauma surgeon duties had him mostly confined to the ER or the OR and he worked an odd schedule, mostly at night, while she had more of a 9-5 job. They met in the attendings’ lounge room sometimes and ran into each other in the shared surgeons’ locker room.

She learned that he was a military man—explained the dog tags—where he learned trauma medicine and used the Westerosi military education bill to put himself through medical school. He’d done his residency and fellowship at Queen Alysanne’s Memorial Hospital in the North and also did stints in Doctors Beyond the Wall, treating the wandering freefolk who often got the short end of the stick when it came to support from Westeros on social services. He was still in the reserves and worked mostly with the Night’s Watch along the border wall.

He was well-respected, Tyrion spoke quite highly of him and it was hard to impress Tyrion. Davos knew him too, from a time when Davos lived in the North, had even paired Tyrion up with Jon when he heard Tyrion wax on one evening drunk about needing a trauma surgeon if they were going to compete with Lannister Medical Center, his father’s private hospital in the Westerlands.

Jon was good with kids too; she’d seen him with some of her patients, patiently listening to their concerns and participating in whatever games they wanted him to play, even if it meant he’d be late for rounds or staff meetings. Talisa had warmed up to him immediately, but Dany also thought perhaps that was because Jon had come in one day with a man who looked vaguely like him, introducing him as his cousin Robb Stark, and Talisa had instantly been smitten.

Dany knew it was silly. She knew she shouldn’t purse it, but _fuck_ she wanted Jon Snow.

Every time she thought she could get over it, he showed up and did something or said something or just... _looked_ at her. There was his stupid face and his stupid smile and his stupid bedside manner. He was doing it on purpose, she thought, until she realized that for his clever way in the bar and with her, he was actually a little shy and awkward. It seemed to just show up at strange times and then there were other times where it was like a wolf would take him over. 

She was leaving the OR one day, exhausted from a surgery that took a lot out of her—a neonatal heart matter—her muscles shot and demanding a long soak in her deep claw-foot tub back home, a glass of wine in her hands, and her three cats snaked around her ankles as she lounged on the couch. She pulled off her scrub cab, her braids falling loose from the crown they’d been pinned into, her hand falling to rub at the back of her neck.

A muscle knot had been giving her some trouble of late and she struggled to get rid of it, standing in front of her locker, scowling at her reflection in the small mirror. “Stupid trapezius,” she cursed the damn thing.

“Need help?”

She glanced over her shoulder, wincing as the movement only made the muscle tighten. Jon stood behind her, his duffel slung over his shoulder, his coat over his arm. He still had his hair pulled back, but it was damp and he smelled like soap, fresh from a shower. She dropped her gaze to the tattoos creeping out on his arm, smiling at the howling white wolf on his forearm. She’d learned that he even had a wolf—Ghost was the beast’s name— Davos checking on the animal when he worked longer hours than normal. “Ah…I’m good.”

“Nonsense.” He dropped his duffel and coat onto the bench beside her, reaching to press his thumb against the knot. He moved his other hand to the front of her shoulder, holding it steady as he worked at it. “These things are the death of us, leaning over operating tables all day.”

“Hmm,” she groaned, eyes closing as he worked the knot with his thumb. “Gods that feels good.”

“Big plans tonight?"

“My cats, my tub, and a glass of wine.” She smirked at him. “You?”

“My bed, a bottle of beer, and my wolf-dog,” he retorted. He chuckled. “Seems like we have the same thing.”

They said nothing, the awkwardness settling over them like a damp blanket. She felt his hands still, but he didn’t drop them, still holding her shoulder in his hands. He smoothed one palm down over to the small of her back, leaning in slightly. She closed her eyes, breath catching. “Jon,” she murmured.

He was going to say something, she knew he was, when the door flung open and Margaery Tyrell—their resident plastic surgeon— stormed in, cursing Tyrion Lannister with everything she had, since he’d apparently threatened to cut her budget or some nonsense. Dany jumped away, grabbing her things and slamming her locker shut, sympathetically listening to Margaery as Jon slipped out without a sound.

_Damnit_ , she thought, watching his retreating back.

It didn’t take long for Margaery to move on to other complaints, thankfully pinning another doctor down with her concerns, affording Dany the opportunity to slip away undetected. She hurried out of the hospital and to the doctors’ parking lot, stopping when she saw Jon leaning against his Land Rover, parked beside her flashy black sports car. She wanted to ask him how he knew it was her car, but that was a stupid question. Her license plate read ‘DR DRGON.’ It had been her brother’s silly idea when he gifted her the car after she finished her fellowship.

A smile flirted on her lips. “What are you waiting for?” she asked.

“You,” he called. He seemed nervous; his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans as he stepped to her. He shrugged. “We’re both adults.”

“Yes.”

“We’re doctors after all.”

“Yes.”

“We can…separate work and personal, right?”

She smiled, wondering what took him so long. She nodded, her toes bumping against his, head cocking as he leaned into her. “Jon Snow,” she drawled, her lips lifting up to his. “You spent the last month killing me, you know, that right?”

“Aye.” He looked sheepish, but his dark wit was hovering under the surface of his awkwardness, she’d discovered. It came out at the oddest of times, as it did then. “Good thing I’m a doctor.”

The soft burr in his voice had her melting to him. She sighed again. “So much for my attempt at a one-night stand.”

He chuckled, his mouth closing over hers. “So much for mine too.”

They chuckled against each other, kissing for a long moment, leaning against the hood of his car. She managed to tear herself away first, biting his lower lip, growling. “I think, Jon Snow, you need a check-up.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, your heart is beating way too fast, it’s not healthy.”

“Hmm, better have my doctor look at it then.”

“Well you see, I’m off shift, but you’re so lucky.”

“I am, how’s that?”

She pulled him to her car, grinning. “I make house calls.”

**fin.**


	2. triage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year later on their 'anniversary', Jon and Dany enjoy some sexy times, a fearful emergency, and a happy surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found myself writing this follow-up in a meeting last week and couldn't stop. This is more 'Grey's Anatomy' than anything else. Sooo much dramaz, haha.
> 
> Enjoy :)

* * *

"Jon! I need you in here _now_ "

"Little busy at the moment!" Jon grabbed the paddles from one of the nurses who was charging up the defib. He waited until he heard the beep. "Clear!" He pressed the interior paddles to the heart of the auto accident victim laying on his table, the fist of muscle already fatigued, but it was his last shot. He scowled at the straight line that continued across the screen, in spite of the massive shock he'd just placed on the heart. "Fuck. Charge 300." He waited another moment and tried again, but there was nothing. He did it one more time and when there was nothing, he sighed, seeing the line continue.

One of the nurses spoke. "Asystole."

"Time of death, 0235," Jon snapped, throwing down the paddles and ripping at his mask, storming away from the table and making his way into the washroom, where a scrub nurse yanked off his bloody robe and he tore at his gloves and mask, grabbing a fresh one and holding it to his mouth as he stepped into the next room where their erstwhile Chief of Surgery was working. "What do you need?"

Tyrion was standing on his specially built stool, working on another victim of the same accident. "Get to radiology, Dragon Queen called, she just got pulled into a GSW nightmare."

"GSW?" That was rare in Kings Landing. He felt his heart race in anticipation. GSWs were a trauma surgeon's bread and butter. He didn't wait for Tyrion to tell him anymore, leaving the OR and snagging his lab coat, tugging on the sleeves as he rushed through the halls of the hospital, making his way into radiology, where he found Dany in one of the viewing rooms, staring at the scans of someone's abdominal cavity with several tiny dark specks scattered through it.

The first thing he thought was _oh boy, this is going to be a long one._ The bullets and fragments were still lodged, but the fear would be if one of them dropped loose during surgery. It was going to take time. The other thought was that Dany looked significantly stressed. He glanced around, stepping to her. "Hey, Tyrion called."

She pointed to the scans. "Take a look. There's five bullets from what I can see, two have shattered. We've got bleeding under control here and here..." She gestured with her index finger. "But the one is pressing there...we remove it and we could have a massive internal bleeding situation, not to mention releasing the pressure and allowing the fragment to travel to the heart."

He understood her dilemma. He hated doing peds cases, their organs were smaller, more compact in their bodies, he'd definitely need Dany's help. He crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the scans, mind racing as he triaged the situation. She was quiet, rather abnormally so. He glanced sideways, seeing her rubbing the small of her back, a grimace on her face. "You okay?" he asked, concerned. He pressed his hand where she was rubbing. “It isn’t…”

“No it’s not,” she cut him off. She sighed. “I’m fine Jon.”

He wouldn’t push. He knew how she hated it when he pushed on her _condition._

"Okay, if you’re sure.”

The radiologist was in the room with them, glancing to them with a tiny smile on her face. He scowled back, before he began pointing out the first plan of attack. Trauma surgery was constantly going to war for him. He treated every case like he was back in the military. He worked with her on how to proceed, agreeing they would speak with the child's mother who they'd learned had just arrived, before going forward with a rather risky procedure that would hopefully buy them time for Dany to address the injuries to the liver, spleen, and stomach while he worked on the vascular and heart.

Everything ready to go, they went about and got all they needed, while Dany went to prep and he popped in to check on another surgery that he'd begun and had to step out on, satisfied everything there was under control.

He was about to go in and scrub up when Talisa paged, requesting he call the ER. He grabbed the phone, punching the number, which she answered immediately. "Yeah?"

"Never a dull moment on a full moon. I've got a guy with a rebar stuck in his leg, need a trauma surgeon consult."

He sighed, pinching his nose and rolled his eyes. "I'll be down in a moment." He hung up, leaning on the desk and looking at the main nurse for the surgical ward, who he'd brought down with him from the North after much convincing, telling her that it would be _way_ more interesting than Queen Alysanne's. "Never a dull moment here, huh Gilly?"

Gilly chuckled. "Want to go back to the North and deal with drunken mishaps and frostbite cases Dr. Snow?"

He smiled, pushing away from the desk. "Fuck no." If he had never left the North, he wouldn't have met Dany, he thought, making his way to the ER. He smiled happily, thinking of the end of shift, which hopefully wouldn't be too much longer. Only another eight hours, probably after they'd finished up with the GSW case. He could shower at the hospital before heading home, but then he wouldn't get the chance to possibly soap up Dany in their huge walk-in of their new condo. Soapy Dany was one of his favorites.

The elevator door dinged, and he stepped out, staring at the chaos of the ER for a moment, people running, screaming, and in one case several nurses and orderlies trying to tie down a raving drunk while Talisa tried to get a damn scope in his throat. He chuckled. Then again, with his job, gods only knew when he would finish.

~/~/~/

The on-call room was blissfully empty save for Dany, who was reclining on the bottom bunk, eyes closed, and a surgical mask pulled over her eyes to substitute for an eye mask. He was as quiet as possible, so as not to wake her, the door clicking softly behind him. He flicked the lock, giving them some privacy and kicked off his shoes, slowly lowering to the bed and crawling under her, lightly kissing the soft spot behind her ear, smiling when she purred at the sensation.

She murmured absently, her fingers reaching for his. "That better be Dr. Snow, or else I'm going to do a ball removal operation."

He winced. "Ouch."

"Hello," she breathed, accepting the kiss he dropped onto her lips, his arms wrapping around her waist. She covered his hand with hers, nuzzling against him and pushing up her rudimentary eye mask so she could properly look at him. He loved when she was just coming out of a nap, she was all soft and sweet, her wide violet eyes drowsy and hooded. He kissed her brow, her long silver hair tugged into a knotted braid down the center of her back. She closed her eyes again, mumbling. "Your sister called me."

His sisters and brothers were his cousins, but he never thought to bother with the differentiation. "What'd she want?" _Which one_ should have been a better question. He already had his suspicions, but figured he'd let Dany tell him.

"She wanted to see when we would be here, since she was going to be in town for some sort of business meeting and had a bunch of embroidered blankets to donate to the NICU," Dany said, sighing. She smirked at his surprised expression. "What? You didn’t think Sansa spoke with me?"

"Must say I am surprised; Arya is your biggest fan."

"Well Sansa's coming around I think."

He wished the same could be said for her family with him. Other than Rhaegar, her other brother and her parents were standoffish when it came to him. Thought that she could do better, of course, but that was mostly because to them Dany's entire profession could be better. The fact that she'd paired up with another doctor was tantamount to criminal in their view. She should have been matched with a lord or other member of high society like her brother had done.

That as the funny thing though, he thought, his knuckles dragging beneath her scrub top, over the smooth skin of her abdomen, her head burrowing into his chest as he leaned against the wall, an arm pillowed behind his head. He was _just a doctor_ but his blood was as blue as theirs. Jon Snow, bastard son of Lady Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, the adopted nephew of Lord Eddard Stark. His profession was as much as a surprise to his aristocratic family as hers was. He smiled to himself, glancing down to see that she was dozing again. "Dany," he murmured. "hey...don't get too comfy."

"Hmm, when is shift over?"

"Why don't you take off? You're dead on your feet." She snorted; clearly, she was not going to entertain that suggestion. Well, he tried. He closed his eyes, exhaling hard through his nose, savoring the warmth of her stretched against him. "Hey," he murmured, eyes still closed. "Know what day it is?"

She grunted, her fingers tightening around his side. "Dunno."

"Day we met."

One eye opened and she glanced up, smiling, rather loopy from her sleepiness and probably the fact that he actually remembered the day they met. "Really?" she murmured. She brushed her lips against his, sighing. "That was a good day."

"Good night, actually."

She chuckled, head dropping down again. "Gods, I can't believe that was a year ago."

 _How things change._ He was looking for something new, tired of the same ole' at Good Alysanne's. He loved the North, it was his home, but between growing up there, the Night’s Watch, school, and then his career, he'd wanted something different. Thankfully Tyrion had come calling, courtesy of Davos, and he'd flown down for the interview, not sure he was going to take it. Then he'd gotten the job. He'd found out the day after he met Dany. He just wanted to do something different, hence his first one-night stand.

Except it hadn't been a one-night stand at all. It had been something of a meet cute. Leave it to him, the serial monogamist, to try a one-night stand and have it end up being the love of his fucking life.

They lay in the tiny bunk for a bit longer. He had to get back, he thought, eyes drifting shut. There were still charts to do, case notes to write, but he couldn't bring himself to truly care. He was with Dany. He looked around the dingy little on-call room. The fact that they were the only ones there and she was actually sleeping was kind of a miracle. The room really wasn't for sleeping. Gods knew how many babies had been conceived there.

She began to nuzzle up his neck, pecking kisses along his jawline, her leg sliding in between his thighs. He smiled, eyeing her curiously. "Thought you were tired?" he murmured, his hand cupping her cheek, thumb brushing her temple. She responded by kissing him, a warm open-mouth, messy kiss, her tongue sliding along his, while at the same time her thighs squeezed around his hips, a not so subtle way of saying that she was no longer tired.

“I want you,” she whispered. She chuckled. “It’s been awhile…I just…need to get this thing moving along you know?” He wasn’t sure what she meant by that, he thought she was right on schedule, but it was her body, not his. If she wanted to do this…fine by him. "Did you lock the door?" she breathed against his mouth, fingers tugging on his scrub top, inching it up over his chest, nails raking on the heated skin, growing warmer with every passing moment she was rocking into him.

He nodded, mind consumed with fog of lust and need for her. She was moving all over his lap, fighting to get his top off which he yanked at hers, throwing it to the floor. He slipped out from under her carefully, settling her back on the thin pillow and mattress, kneeling on the floor as he kissed along her now exposed chest, alternating between licking, nipping, and suckling on the soft skin across her abdomen, his fingers dancing along the elastic band of her scrub pants. His fingers deftly slipped beneath and scooted the thin cotton over her firm bottom, taking her panties with it. He dragged them over her shapely legs, idly placing kisses along the soft skin of her thighs, knees, and calves.

Once those were out of the way, he inched his way back up, stroking and kissing, teasing her with little nips on the softness, soothing with the flat of his tongue. She writhed under him, her fingers knotting in his curls. “Please,” she moaned. She panted. “No time.”

“Hmm, always time,” he murmured against her folds, pleased to find her slick and swollen for him. He clucked his tongue against the dampness, delighting in her drawn-out moan. “How long have you been like this Dany?”

“All…all…”

“Hmm?”

“All shift,” she managed to get out, her heels lifting to dig into the edge of the bunk. He pinned her hips down to keep her still, savoring in the musky, salty taste of her. She whined, high-pitched, when he tongued at her, slipping inside for a brief moment before he exited, smiling against her clit as he finally paid it the attention it deserved. He slipped first one digit in, but she barely paid notice, so he slipped in a second, stroking her lazily.

Her hips thrust up and he pinned them back down again with the palm of his hand. She whined in protest. He stole a look up and around to see her head tossing from side to side, her braid whipping over her shoulders with the movement. He should have removed her bra, but he’d do that soon enough, he thought, wanting to treat her first in case they got called away. He would have to deal with his perpetual hard-on though; this woman just _did_ things to him, just lying there.

She propped herself on her elbows, head lolling back again on her shoulders, moaning. “Gods Jon, please…I want you.”

“Yeah?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she cried, pulsing around his fingers. He didn’t let up, wanting her to come before he was inside of her. It didn’t take long; she was already primed and ready, and it just took a few more movements of his tongue and curve of his fingers to hit the sweet spot inside of her, her entire body seizing as the waves of pleasure rolled over her. She fell back to the bed and he saw that she’d slipped the cup of her bra down, her fingers twisting at her breast.

 _Fuck._ He kissed back up and over her, settling his mouth on hers, groaning as she moved her hands down to pull him free of his scrub pants and boxers. He hissed when her thumb ran over the sensitive tip of his cock, her other hand reaching further down to start long, slow twists at the base. He laughed, shakily. “You keep doing that, I’m not gonna’ last.”

“Hmm, well hurry up then.”

He tracked kisses over her face to her neck, rolling to the side, one of his feet still planted on the floor for leverage, the tiny bunk space not giving them a whole lot of room to work with. She slipped under him and he drew her hips back, hands massaging gently over the small of her back, soft kisses following. She propped her forearms up and dropped her head, gasping when he aligned himself behind her, slowly pushing against her dripping folds. He nudged her thighs apart with his other leg, bent underneath her and slowly pushed into her.

 _Gods._ His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he sheathed himself in the warm, wet heat of her body. She trembled around him, thighs quaking against his. “Jon,” she groaned. “Oh gods, that feels so good…move.”

 _As my queen commands_ , he thought, but he didn’t need much encouragement. He moved against her in lazy, shallow thrusts, hips rolling carefully so as not to jostle her too much. She glared at him over her shoulder, brows knitted together in a straight silver line. He chuckled, fingers gripping her hips tighter as he pulled almost entirely out, before gritting his teeth and slamming into her in one hard thrust. Her mouth fell open in a gasp, eyes closing tight, a hissed “Yes” coming from her.

With every thrust he gave, she pushed back with her own. He closed his eyes, movements erratic and his thumbs pressing hard into her skin as his movements grew erratic, the familiar tingling feeling at the base of his spine warning him that he wasn’t going to last long. He leaned over her, licking a path up her back and shoulder to grab her mouth in a messy kiss, one hand moving to clutch at her silver curls, her braid winding in his fist. She fell to one arm, her other moving under her, disappearing into the juncture of their bodies.

She tightened around him, her fingers moving to press at her belly as he let go of her hip to take up the movements of her hand, finding her little clit and tapping at it in the same rhythm as his thrusts. It was all she needed, her climax hitting hard, and wrought his from him a moment later, her hot, pulsing channel milking everything from him. He juddered against her for a few seconds, body unsure at what to do as everything in his vision blackened. He shouted roughly into her shoulder, burying his face into her dewy lavender skin to keep quiet.

They remained joined for a few more minutes, bodies shivering from the aftershocks. He closed his eyes and sighed, carefully tugging her to his chest. _Gods it’s always like the first time_ , he thought, blinking up at the bottom of the bunk above their heads. He turned into her again, holding her against him tightly, lips featherlight on the back of her neck. She purred, her bottom wiggling against him. He hissed, still sensitive. “Ah…careful Dany.”

“Hmm, you’ll be ready to go again soon.”

“I don’t know, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

She turned her head, smiling loopily. He kissed her lightly, her hand coming up to pat at his cheek. He wrapped his arms tight around her, hands splayed over her belly. She sighed in happiness, eyes closed, sweat glistening on her dewy skin. He remained at her side, spooning against her, closing his eyes and savoring the warm, melting feeling that drugged him. How did he think that he could live without this after that first night together? Gods, he knew nothing.

A nap would be nice about then, just holding her, their hands and feet entangled together beneath the sheet, but unfortunately the world didn't work that way. He knew soon they'd have to get up, to return to work, but for now he smiled into her shoulder, inhaling the scent of her— lavender and lemons. "I love you," he whispered, unsure if she heard him. Her chest was rising and falling so deeply he figured she'd fallen asleep.

They lay together for a bit longer, his eyes drooping shut. She startled him slightly as she moved, dragging her finger along one of the new tattoos on his right arm, a dragon curling around one of the wolves, her thumb dragging on its purple eyes. "You should get another one," she whispered into his skin. "A wolf with wings or maybe a baby dragon."

He chuckled. "I will." He'd been thinking of it, figuring he'd get it as soon as he could. He sighed. "Sleep Dany." Gods knew how much longer they had left, might as well make the most of the opportunity to sleep, he thought, yawning and snuggling closer to her.

~/~/~/~

"Fuck!"

"Ow," Dany mumbled, wincing as she stretched, tugging her scrub top back over her and tucking it into her pants. She hopped around awkwardly, rubbing her head from where he knocked into it, having jerked up quickly from tying his shoes to grab for his pager, which had fallen under the bunk. She glanced over her shoulder. "What's happening?"

They'd been awake, content to lie there a bit longer when she’d complained her back was aching. He’d set about working on the tense muscles, wondering if perhaps it wasn’t something more, when his questions had been cut off by the shrill sound of the pagers going off, first hers and then his. He grabbed for the phone on the wall, but it didn't seem to matter, as the door handle rattled, Tyrion's voice shouting. "Hey! Get up lovebirds! Major trauma on its way from the Red Keep. Incoming VIPs."

He whipped to Dany, whose face when ashen, the implication heavy. She shoved her feet into her red and black sneakers, grabbing for the door and throwing it open, staring down at Tyrion, silently demanding an explanation. "Dany," he called, but she was already bullying their boss for information.

"What's happened at the Red Keep? Who are the VIPs?"

"I don't know, I just know that there was an incident with a protester. The..." Tyrion trailed off, looking up at her, concerned and eyes darting from her to Jon.

She stepped around, cutting off Tyrion's gaze to him. "You don't look at him when I ask you a question, you look at me. What happened and who are the VIPs?"

Jon looked up at the ceiling as the lights flashed in the surgical wing, an announcement blaring. "Code Silver, I repeat, Code Silver, this is not a drill." His blood ran cold and he reached for Dany, but she was already taking off, pushing so fast by Tyrion he almost spun in place like a top. He glared at him one more time, irritated that this couldn't have been handled a bit more delicately, and raced off, adjusting his stethoscope in one hand and shrugging his lab coat off with the other.

The entire ER was in a tizzy, Talisa ordering patients evacuated from the waiting area and surrounding trauma wings. He already noted that Barristan Selmy, the head of the White Cloaks, was already in place, shouting into a radio and pointing around, clearing the floor. He grabbed Talisa, who was on a radio as well. "Where do you want me?" he demanded, unsure what had already been decided.

"I've got five incoming, multiple stab wounds, few crush injuries from the ensuing stampede. Three VIPs, including one minor. Where's my peds at?" she demanded.

Dany was at the front of the ER, in the ambulance bay, screaming. "Rhaegar! Where's Rhaegar!?"

"Fuck," he cursed.

Talisa pointed. "Get her on the peds case, she has to do her job."

Tyrion swung around the admin desk, climbing up onto a chair and grabbing a phone to start ordering around. He pointed to the black limo that had just pulled up, lights flashing and police escort surrounding it. "You're on Silver Dragon, VIP 1. This is why I hired you Snow."

He blocked out what he needed to. It didn't take him long. It was a trained response from growing up as he had, where he had to always distance himself from everyone and everything. He couldn't show emotion, couldn't allow his aunt the satisfaction of her belief that 'bastards' were lustful, emotional, greedy creatures born of sin. He was a soldier, he was battle-bred, and that's why he chose trauma surgery when he decided to go to medical school. He viewed every single case like it was a battle, his emotions shutting down, and his sole focus on getting the situation under control.

He barked orders like he was on the frontline, pushing by and out into the ambulance bay as a gurney arrived, a couple of the White Cloaks—including Jaime Lannister, helping out the tall, thin, bleeding frame of Rhaegar Targaryen. "Rhaegar!" Dany howled, barreling through, but Jon grabbed hold of her before she could get to her brother. "Let me go!" she screamed, kicking her feet. "Jon let me get to my brother!"

"No! You have to get to your patient." He rounded on her, grabbing her shoulders, gaze intense. She was crying, eyes red-rimmed, struggling between wanting to see to her brother and do her job. He needed her to do her job. He kissed her brow, whispering. "You're the Dragon Queen Dany. _Be_ the Dragon Queen." He turned her, nudging her towards the incoming ambulance, with what he saw was Tommen and Myrcella Baratheon, the former Prime Minister's children. "Go."

"Please Jon," she begged, but he didn't need her to say anything. It was his job; he'd do his job.

He ran back into the ER, grabbing the bars on the side of the gurney and jerking them down so he had more room to move, shouting for a battery of tests as he assessed the damage. Rhaegar was unconscious—not a good sign. There were deep wounds, likely from a serrated knife, he realized, seeing the entry of some of them. He winced at the exit of a couple. Whoever attacked him had been vicious. He leaned over and flicked a pen on Rhaegar's eyes. "Pupils reactive," he called, somewhat relieved. He shouted out again. "Let's get radiology in here, I want a chest x-ray…Fuck!"

As one of the nurse's went to intubate, another nurse cut at his necktie, which had apparently been keeping one of the wounds from bleeding. Jon lunged, grabbing hold of the tie and tugging hard on it, using it as a tourniquet until they could get it under control and see the whole situation. He ignored the White Cloaks fussing around, always trying to make sure that their charge was under surveillance.

He glanced up through the clear window into the next trauma room, as Dany worked on one of the Baratheon children. He saw Jaime Lannister freaking out int he hallway, Tyrion trying to calm him, wondering what that was about. He pulled his mind from what was occurring beyond the trauma room and Rhaegar, working on his patient, pretending like this was anyone else and not the Prime Minister of Westeros.

And certainly not his brother-in-law.

~/~/~/~

"Lacerated kidney, spleen, liver...fuck," Jon cursed, staring at the CT of Rhaegar. They'd gotten the bleeding under control as best as possible, but there was a significant amount of damage to his internal organs that needed repaired. He shook his head, whispering. "Who the fuck did this?" There was also a major crush injury to his sternum, cracking it almost straight up to his collarbone.

Tyrion stood beside him, hands on his hips, shaking his head in disbelief. “How is he still alive?”

“Honestly? No idea.” Rhaegar had lost a ton of blood. He had a concussion most likely, but they wouldn’t get a read on that until he woke up. He had been stabbed at least five times and then the crush injury, which one of the White Cloaks said was from a bat. He would leave it to the Gold Cloaks to investigate, his job was to save the Prime Minister. _Brother in law_ , he thought to himself.

He bantered back and forth with Tyrion about how to proceed. He had a plan; Rhaegar was getting prepped for surgery, and he went to scrub up. He tied his cap on his head, what Dany called his “lucky hat.” It was the same one he always wore. Wolves running across it, Arya had gotten him an entire box of them for the holidays one year and he never used another kind when he went into surgery. He gloved up and stepped up to the table, one of the nurses adjusting the clear glasses over his eyes.

“Alright,” he said, glancing at Tyrion, who would be helping. He took hold of one of the scalpels from the nurse’s, making the first cut. “Let’s do this.”

For the next five or so hours, they worked steadily, having to stop several bleeders, adjust plans as Rhaegar started crashing at least twice. They’d worked on the liver and repaired the damage, and Jon thought things were going as well as they could go. He was working on the lacerated kidney, hoping he could save the organ and not have to remove it, when some of the nurses began to look over at the door to the opposite operating room.

He ignored them. Sometimes the hospital gossip got to be too much. Like they were. A primetime soap opera. It finally grew to be too much for his co-surgeon. “Problem?” Tyrion asked, somewhat biting.

“Um…OR two…they’re requesting another surgeon.”

“What’s the problem?”

“It’s Dr. Targaryen. She’s…well…um….”

The stammering was getting to him. “Spit it out!” he shouted. He was busy working on the Prime Minister, he didn’t have time for gossip. It was easier to think of him like that than his brother-in-law. He grunted as he leaned in, fighting with one of the clamps. There was too much blood, he thought, fingers slipping for purchase. He glanced at the beeping heart monitor. Blood pressure was dropping. “Shit.”

The medical student who had no doubt been the unlucky one to come in and interrupt him during surgery—a death sentence for most—choked out the words: “Dr. Targaryen is…she’s in _labor_.”

Oh shit.

His eyes widened, meeting Tyrion’s. Tyrion coughed. “Come again?”

“Dr. Targaryen is in labor. Um, contractions about five minutes apart. She…she won’t stop surgery though.” The medical student paused. “We thought Dr. Snow should know.”

They _thought_ he should know? Sometimes Dany’s independence would be the death of him. Labor. She was in labor. Her pain earlier. Back pain from before in the on-call room…her insistence that they…aw shit.

“Fuck!”

“Go!” Tyrion shouted, grabbing hold of the clamp he’d just released in surprise. He shook his head; eyes filled with equal parts amusement and worry. “Leave it to her.”

 _Labor._ Jon jumped back from the table, ripping off his gloves and banging through the doors to the other OR, where he was greeted with the sight of Dany leaning over Tommen Baratheon, trying to perform her surgery, doubled over in pain as someone rubbed the small of her back and she protested against another nurse who was trying to get her to stop.

Margaery Tyrell hurried in after him, a surgical mask held over her face. “Daenerys! This is madness!”

“I have to finish!” Dany exclaimed, before letting out a cry of pain. She shook her head., waving one of her hands around, pointing to the OR team. “Whatever you morons do, you do not, under any circumstances tell Jon!”

Well that answered that question, of course she hadn’t called for him. “Too late!” he shouted.

All who weren’t trying to keep the young boy on the table alive looked over at him, and Dany only glanced up momentarily. Sweat beaded along her brow, visible under her scrub cap and above her glasses. She spoke, voice a high tinny. “You need to get back to my bro…to the Prime Minister.”

“Tyrion has it under control.” He didn’t move from where he stood in the doorway, not wanting to possibly contaminate the OR, as he was still wearing a robe stained with Rhaegar’s blood. He fisted his hands at his sides. “Dany, be reasonable!”

“Contractions are only five minutes apart,” she said, obviously fighting through one. She groaned. “And they’re just in my back. I’ll be _fine._ ”

“Dany!”

“Get back to my brother!”

There was no way he was going to barge further in than he already had, so he turned and ripped off the robe and mask, pulling on another as he made his way into the OR. He pushed to stand beside her, an arm around her as she kept working. Her determination knew no bounds. He clutched an arm around her hips, guiding her gently back as Margaery took over holding the instruments, Dany only letting go as she silently admitted she could no longer keep going.

Someone had pushed a wheelchair up, Dany falling back into it, clutching a hand to her stomach. “Oh gods!” She reached up, grabbing for his hand, dragging him down, bright purple eyes pleading. “Please Jon…you know as well as I do this could take forever…get back to my brother. _Please._ ”

He kissed her brow through his surgical mask, eyes closing and squeezing at her gloved hand. “I wish I could, but I have to stay with you.” _With our baby._ He dropped his other hand to rest over hers, wondering how they had not realized earlier that she’d dropped as much as she had. They were both doctors and here they were clueless at how a baby was born. It could also have been the on-call room, eh thought, remembering something from medical school about how sex could encourage labor. Endorphins and oxytocin and all those other hormones that triggered contractions.

She shook her head, squeezing hard. “I’ll have them call you. I can’t do this without you, but you need to go to my brother. Please.”

He found himself letting go of her, watching them wheel her off, another surgeon stepping in to take over for her. He spun around, lost for a moment, mind racing. It was uncharacteristic of him. To not know what to do in a time of overwhelming stress and immediacy. It went against his military training, medical school training…against everything he’d had to endure growing up, needing to be observant and remain hidden.

The baby. Rhaegar. Dany.

“Dr. Snow!”

Margaery shouting his name brought him back. He went into triage, leaving the surgery of Tommen Baratheon to her and the rest of the other scrub nurses to figure out. He blew through the ORs, rescrubbed, and stepped back up to Rhaegar. He leaned over to his brother-in-law’s face, eyes closed, and the breathing tube taped to his mouth, whispering. “If you know what’s good for you, you make it through. She’s never going to forgive you if you don’t.” He stepped back, ignoring some of the curious looks of the team, and took up the instruments again, exhaling hard. “Okay people. I have a baby on the way and the Prime Minister to save. No one fuck up.”

Tyrion chuckled. “Oh we’re going to try Dr. Snow.”

“Don’t try, Dr. Lannister.” He glared at the little lion over the top of their scrub masks. “Just do.”

~/~/~/~

Exactly one year to the day he met Daenerys Targaryen, their baby was born. Jon had no idea what to expect, taking the job down here in Kings Landing, other than it would certainly be a unique change from the bores of the North. Then a tiny silver-haired woman with purple eyes blew into his life, upending it forever.

He got there just in time, a call from Labor and Delivery to the OR saying that she was refusing to push until he was there with her, so he raced back upstairs, just in time to settle behind her on the bed, pressing her forward as he clutched her hands, watching over her shoulder as she brought their baby into the world. He always had known Daenerys was a force to be reckoned with—she didn’t earn ‘Dragon Queen’ as a nickname for nothing—seeing her birth a human was something else entirely.

She saved lives, she repaired little hearts and mended tiny broken bones, and she had saved him in a way he had not realized until they’d moved beyond the awkwardness of seeing each other after a night where they weren’t supposed to ever meet again. His sisters called it ‘fate’ and ‘kismet’ and all those other things that he just figured were ways of saying ‘coincidence’ in a more romantic fashion.

Except it was all true.

“Gods, she’s so perfect,” he whispered, lying beside her on the hospital bed, an arm draped up and over hers, his other pinned between them, fingers brushing the tiny delicate fingers of their daughter. He kissed her temple, silver hair spun in a long braid over her shoulder, violet eyes tired, but open on the bundle, refusing to sleep. He wondered if it was for the same reason why he refused to sleep; they might miss out on something their daughter did. Every single breath she took was the first time she took that breath, after all. “You’re perfect.”

She chuckled, turning to peer up at him. “You are biased Jon Snow.”

“I am biased. I love you.” He kissed her softly, nose brushing hers. He touched their foreheads. He closed his eyes, briefly, inhaling the beautiful scent of them both. He heard his pager buzzing from where he’d set it on the table beside the bed, turning his head to glare at it for intruding on them.

He reached for the pager, staring at the phone number to call back. He set it down and crawled off the bed, picking up the phone and dialing. It rang once, Tyrion answering. “You called?” he murmured, keeping his voice down as Dany’s eyes drifted shut.

“You have a visitor. He would not take no for an answer.”

Huh? He would have questioned further, but it seemed Tyrion was not in the mood for questions, hanging up immediately. He set the phone back in the cradle, glancing over to the door, the handle turning slightly. He walked over and tugged on it, pulling the door back, to reveal Barristan Selmy, looking quite annoyed as he stood behind the wheelchair, the Prime Minister sitting upright, glaring at him. “You need to be resting,” he said, but knew Rhaegar would ignore him.

“I heard my baby sister had a baby. I was not going to just keep sleeping.”

Dany’s eyes lit up, tears shining int hem. “Rhaegar! Oh!”

“Selmy, I’ll not ask you again,” Rhaegar ordered, lifting his hand. He was battered, bruised, and voice thin with pain, but the knight nodded, pushing his charge through the door and over to the side of the bed.

Jon sighed, knowing that there was no stopping a Targaryen when they had something in their head. He should have known that. They were conquerors. Took what they wanted and damn all the rest. He moved to the monitor strapped to the back of Rhaegar’s wheelchair, noting the vitals. He was a bit surprised at how quick he’d come out of the surgery, how alert he was, given all that had happened to him.

Dany turned the bundle towards him, her fingers dancing over the tiny hands. “This is Rhae,” she breathed, smiling at her brother’s surprised expression. “I named her for Mother, but also for you…I was so scared you weren’t…” She hiccuped, fighting tears. “You weren’t going to make it.”

He chuckled, reaching to tweak her nose. “I wouldn’t have, if it hadn’t been for your husband.”

He turned pink, standing on the other side of Dany’s bed. “Just doing my job,” he whispered. He looked over at Selmy, who had gone to stand by the door, ever the sentry. “Do they know what happened? Who did this to you?”

“Baratheon supporter,” Rhaegar said, wincing as he rubbed at his chest, his already pale face going gray at the movement. He closed his eyes, Dany reaching to hold his hand. He voice was thin. “Investigation ongoing, but…seems Robert really doesn’t like me after all.”

Dany shook her head, disgusted. “They hurt a child. They should burn for it.”

“They will,” he assured her, knowing that the Baratheon children who had been caught in the crossfire would recover. Due in part to her efforts. He smiled down at her, whispering. “You should get some rest.” He glanced at Rhaegar, scowling. “As should you. You’ve got more surgeries ahead; you need to rest.”

Both of the Targaryens rolled their violet eyes. She smiled up at him, murmuring. “You are something when you get into Dr. Snow mode, Jon.”

Rhaegar chuckled, looking up at him from his little sister’s adoring gaze. “I like this one Dany. You should keep him.”

The flush on his cheeks warmed more. He really did not like the attention. Never had. She grinned up at him, squeezing his hand. “Yeah, I think I will.”

“Tell me again, how did you two meet? Here at work, right?”

Dany glanced up at him again. He leaned over and gathered his daughter up from her arms, cradling the little one to his chest, watching her purple eyes flutter open, her tiny hands moving as she shifted against him. He exchanged a look with Dany, who was gazing up at him with amusement. He reached a hand down, squeezing hers tight. “Something like that.”

**fin.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :)

**Author's Note:**

> That happened. Bye. Thanks for reading it if you got through it.


End file.
